Seven Up - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,51

I drove him to my parents' house and half dragged him inside.

"Company, how nice," Grandma Mazur said, helping me haul Melvin into the kitchen.

My mother was ironing and tunelessly singing.

"I've never heard her sing like that," I said to Grandma.

"She's been doing it all day," Grandma said. "I'm starting to get worried. And she's been ironing that same shirt for an hour."

I sat Melvin at the table and gave him some black coffee and made him a ham sandwich.

"Mom?" I said. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, of course. I'm just ironing, dear."

Melvin rolled his eyes in Grandma's direction. "Do you know what I did? I urrrrrinated on the cake at my ex-wife's wedding. Pissssssed all over the icing. In front of everyone."

"It could have been worse," Grandma said. "You could have pooped on the dance floor."

"Do you know what happens when you pissss on icing? It gets rrrruined. Makes it all drippy."

"How about the little bride and groom at the top of the cake," Grandma said. "Did you piss on them, too?"

Melvin shook his head. "I couldn't reach them. I only got the bottom tier." He put his head down on the table. "I can't believe I embarrassed myself like that."

"Maybe if you practice you could get the top tier next time," Grandma said.

"I'm never going to another wedding," Melvin said. "I wish I was dead. Maybe I should just kill myself."

Valerie came into the kitchen carrying a laundry basket. "What's up?"

"I pissed on the cake," Melvin said. "I was shit-faced." And then he passed out facedown in his sandwich.

"I can't take him in like this," I said.

"He can sleep it off on the couch," my mother said, putting the iron down. "Everybody take a body part and we'll drag him in there."

ZIGGY AND BENNY were in the parking lot when I got home.

"We heard you want to make a deal," Ziggy said.

"Yep. Do you have Mooner?"

"Not exactly."

"Then it's no deal."

"We went all through your apartment and it wasn't there," Ziggy said.

"That's because it's someplace else," I told him.

"Where?"

"I'm not telling until I see Mooner."

"We could hurt you real bad," Ziggy said. "We could make you talk."

"My future grandmother-in-law wouldn't like that."

"You know what I think?" Ziggy said. "I think you're fibbing about having it."

I shrugged and turned to go into the building. "When you find Mooner, let me know and we'll deal."

Ever since I've had this job people have been breaking into my apartment. I buy the best locks available and it doesn't matter. Everyone gets in. The scary part is that I'm starting to get used to it.

Not only did Ziggy and Benny leave everything as they found it . . . they improved on it. They did my dishes and wiped down my counter. The kitchen was nice and tidy.

The phone rang and it was Eddie DeChooch.

"I understand you've got it."

"Yes."

"Is it in good shape?"

"Yes."

"I'm sending someone over to get it."

"Hold on. Wait a minute. What about Mooner? The deal is that I'm willing to trade Mooner for it."

DeChooch made a derisive sound. "Mooner. I don't know why you even care about that loser. Mooner isn't part of the deal. I'll give you money."

"I don't want money."

"Everyone wants money. Okay, how about this? How about I kidnap you and torture you until you hand it over?"

"My future grandmother-in-law would put the eye on you."

"The old bat is a crackpot. I don't believe in that bunk."

DeChooch hung up.

I was getting a lot of fast action on the bait scheme, but I wasn't making any progress getting Mooner back. A big sad lump was sitting in the middle of my throat. I was scared. No one seemed to have Mooner to trade. I didn't want Mooner or Dougie to be dead. Even worse, I didn't want to be like Valerie, sitting at the table blubbering with her mouth open.

"Damn!" I yelled. "Damn, damn, damn!"

Rex backed out of his soup can and looked up at me, whiskers whirring. I broke off a corner of a strawberry Pop-Tart and handed it to Rex. He shoved the Pop-Tart into his cheek and returned to his can. A hamster of simple pleasures.

I called Morelli and asked him over for dinner. "Except you have to bring the dinner," I said.

"Fried chicken? Meatball sub? Chinese?" Morelli asked.

"Chinese."

I rushed into the bathroom, took a shower, shaved any legs so the stupid voice in my head wouldn't screw things up again, and washed my hair with the shampoo that smells like root beer. I rummaged through my lingerie drawer